


ways that no one ever could

by Nyxierose



Series: (would you want me) standing in the same light [1]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 16:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: "But she's desperate, she reminds herself. She's desperate, she's currently alone with her target, and it's not the worst possible thing in the world."Or, 1x11 semi-hatesex-turned-unexpected-feelings because why not.





	ways that no one ever could

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Sorry" by Halsey. Song isn't relevant to the story; just a pretty lyric.
> 
> Probably the first part of a series, but we'll deal with that when we have to.

It's been three days and Lucy's tried everything she can think of and none of it has worked. Outright running, hell no, the wardrobe issue killed that idea before she made it half a block; standard physical combat, equally bad idea, she has no skill in that arena; talking her way out, she's given that multiple attempts and still absolutely _nothing_. The fact that she's utterly useless is a given and ought to make it easier for her to get out, but Flynn has some point he wants to prove and she's along for the ride until she comes up with a way out.

Or no, she thinks, no she has _not_ tried everything. Still one scheme left in her arsenal, one last-ditch effort that she doubts will work, but it's all she's got left and-

Hell, she never planned on being That Kind Of Woman, but the past few months have been a shitshow and she might as well sacrifice the last of her standards while she's still sane enough to recognize them.

Objectively, fucking her way out of a bad situation is ridiculous. As far up a tree as she is, Lucy is well aware of this detail. In no true story she's heard has a woman managed to gain genuine freedom by using her body in this sort of way.

But she's desperate, she reminds herself. She's desperate, she's currently alone with her target, and it's not the worst possible thing in the world.

She sits on the edge of the lone bed in this hotel room and wonders how the hell she ended up in this specific space, whose wife she was attributed as or if anyone outside has even noticed the lone female among men. There are two goons on this trip, but they're off wreaking havoc somewhere while their leader stays behind on guard duty. He's on the other side of the room, staring out the window, observing heaven only knows what. It's almost tempting to try to stab him with a hairpin, but she doubts she'd have any luck with that and-

"Why me?" she asks. They've been silent for what feels like hours, and the sound of her own voice feels weird.

"You don't know yet," Flynn mutters, like he's disappointed she hasn't figured out whatever the big mystery ahead of her is yet. He shouldn't be, she can't help thinking - only reason _he_ knows is because of that damned journal, so he should be a little more calm about her doing things like that. But gods, CALM does not seem to be a word he even knows, and-

"I'm not going to do what you want and I'm not good bait either," she counters, getting to her feet and crossing the space between them.

"You don't _know_."

"Then tell me!"

He whirls around and she sees a flash of fire in his eyes, that look that ought to be dangerous - _is_ dangerous, she reminds herself, for everyone who has ever lived except for her. "I know you," he breathes. "Not just this you, but the version who wrote the journal. You write it ten years from now. You are… different then."

"Different like how?" She has some suspicions now, with how resistant he's being about the whole thing, but-

"That version of you knew a different version of me and _they_ were different and-"

"Different like this?"

She kisses him. There's no formalities to it. Lucy is graceless at best and even more so when trying to fucking _climb_ someone who's an actual foot taller than her, but she gets on her tiptoes and practically yanks his head down to her level and it's the weirdest first kiss she's ever had. And maybe, possibly, the best. (So far, she tells herself. She's still young enough. There could be better someday, there could be-)

And oh, he's blushing as she lets go and that is a sight she will never unsee. She will save this memory forever, it will be the last thing she thinks about when she dies in fifty years (or hours, whatev) because it's so unexpected and beautiful and-

"Like that," he breathes. His hands find hers and there's a gentleness in that touch that she doesn't expect, didn't know he was capable of until she sees it firsthand. Wants more of, she decides. Wants everything from.

It's still an escape route, Lucy reminds herself. Doesn't mean a damn thing as long as she gets what she wants in the end.

(She's a shitty liar, and future spoilers are definitely not on her side, but she'll try anyways.)

He tastes different than she expects, she decides as she kisses him again. Like sadness, somehow, and like chaos incarnate - those, she should've known - but there's an echo of something else. Before all this, before his world went to hell, he was a good man. Maybe he will be again someday, maybe-

"Your plan won't work."

"Maybe I don't care." And maybe she just wants to get out of these ridiculous clothes for a bit. The 1890s were _not_ a good decade for women's fashion, and she's gonna burn this damn corset once she gets home and-

Layers. God. She's doing this, and she'll hate herself if she ever gets decent enough time to process it but rate she's going that won't happen until she's dead and-

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." Her turn to be certain; if that were possible, it would've happened months ago, but it hasn't and it never will. That's the only constant she has anymore. This interplay, though currently conflicted by searching kisses and his hands on her hips, is the only thing that cannot be taken from her.

She breaks apart and starts shedding her clothing, wanting the awkwardness over with as soon as she can. Jacket, skirt, blouse, all are easy enough to discard on the floor. Corset is not. She tries in silence for a minute or so, a little distracted by the heat of Flynn's eyes on her, but the damned thing won't _budge_ and oh, she's gonna die in this too-tight waste of material and-

"Help?" she whispers. One little word should not be so hard, but it feels like a weight falling away all the same. "Please?"

Even now, Lucy isn't stupid. She knows she's wearing a meat dress in front of a lion and asking it to cuddle with her instead, and yet-

And yet, as he steps behind her and starts undoing the laces, she is unafraid. Laid bare in front of the person she ought to hate most in the world, as the corset falls to the floor and she vows not to put it back on after this encounter is over, and unafraid.

He kisses the top of her head and she leans back against him and okay, fine, the idea of falling in love with him in a couple years is totally plausible.

But not yet, she reminds herself as she twirls back around and throws her chemise aside in one final fluid motion and hisses at how much clothing he's still wearing. No, focus on the bad things and take as much as possible, do _not_ think about the future right now.

She watches from a step away and decides she likes what she sees. Flynn is _solid_ , easy on the eyes in a battering-ram-made-flesh sort of way, and she does have a bit of a type and this is all of it. He's more awkward about the undressing part of what they're about to do than she is, and she suspects that for the first time in her life she's probably the more sexually experienced partner. She knows not to say it, but-

The kisses mean nothing, she reminds herself. His hand wandering between her legs and circling her clit means nothing. How wet she is means _nothing_.

Lying back on the bed and closing her eyes and waiting for sweet oblivion, also nothing.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it." She can _hear_ his smirk, wishes she was the kind of woman who'd either slap or kiss it off him but she is neither.

"I haven't yet," she growls.

"Second thoughts?"

"Just fuck me already. We have another day to kill before your bullshit plan, and it's not like there's anything else for me to do until then."

(She's justifying this any way she can. Maybe, if she tries hard enough, she'll find a reason that actually works.)

His body is foreign to her but she could learn it, she thinks. He fucks like he does everything else, with focused intensity and burning fire, somewhere between gentle and harsh or perhaps both at once. She keeps her eyes closed and lets herself memorize the feelings of his hands on her hips, the brush of scruff against the curve of her neck, warmth drawing her in despite everything and-

"I still hate you," she mutters as he slips his hand between them and the pressure against her clit makes her almost breathless.

"You've never hated me."

Convenient, really, that he says that right before all the sensations hit her at once and she's unable to respond.

By the time she fully comes down, he's crossed as well and found a way to cover her without resting much of his weight on her. Then, and only then, she opens her eyes.

From what she knows now, Lucy assumes this will be the first of many times she'll see this man in the aftermath of collision. Maybe someday they'll be proper lovers, maybe do things normally, maybe get as far as a hyphenated last name and a kid or two. She doesn't know the exact structure of that future, but it involves _them_ somehow and this is a turning point, this is an afternoon she'll look back on in a couple years and know where it all started and-

"You know it didn't work," he breathes. The low growl of his voice does something to her, dammit, and-

"I know. I'll find another way."

He gets to his feet, leaving her on the bed, and starts putting his clothes back on. "I'll give you space to compose yourself, then."

"What makes you think I need that?"

"I know you," he counters, almost laughing. (She knows she's years from _that_ explanation.) "What else is there?"


End file.
